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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951610">flirting with an addiction I can’t shake off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/furorem/pseuds/furorem'>furorem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mindhunter (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Infidelity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:06:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/furorem/pseuds/furorem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiding behind smoke doesn’t cut it anymore. Holden’s gaze rips through it, those cunning eyes dissecting him, peeling back Bill’s protective layers like he would with one of their subjects. And Bill lets him, nursing the snakes that coil in his belly with a poison which intoxicates him instead of killing him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Holden Ford/Bill Tench</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>flirting with an addiction I can’t shake off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m like 15 minutes late to this show... Not with Starbucks but with fanfic. But hey I binged it in two days and wrote this in two days. So...  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enioy.<br/>Edit: heey I had a feeling the story needed some editing... And oh boi it sure did. I hope I got rid of every mistake this time</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>flirting with an addiction I can’t shake off  </strong>
</p><p>Holden Ford is a smug smartass but he’s a smartass with a sharp mind and instincts other agents can only dream of. And if that wasn’t bad enough already, he’s also attractive in that way when people grow into themselves and start to claim the corners of their soul that had been unoccupied until a certain age. He’s a dangerous cocktail of attributes that speak to Bill on different levels and drag thoughts to the forefront of his mind that he’d buried the moment he met Nancy and promised himself to forget these notions and needs.</p><p>But it’s hard when you’re together nearly 24/7. When you know all the little quirks, all the flaws, all the brilliantness of someone from spending months together on the road. Before Holden, Bill was happy to wallow in his misery disguised as the perfect family. He should have known better. Should have seen the signs when the thought of sharing a bed with Nancy made his chest feel too tight not from arousal but from anxiety; when she tried to salvage the gap between them by trying to get pregnant and failing and pushing for adaption; when it only took one look, one conversation with this young man full of idealism to turn Bill’s stomach, his world, upside down.</p><p>*</p><p>Bill Tench is hard to read at first. He’s obviously delighted to have someone to share the workload with but at the same time there’s an underlying tension whenever they speak which translates to sharp words or annoyed sighs. And yet, despite Bill’s annoyance with Holden, the small smiles steal onto his face. And yet he accompanies Holden to interview Ed Kemper and after that, all the others, introduces him to Wendy, defends him against Shepard. It’s Bill’s idea as much as it’s Holden to make this thing a study. With Wendy’s help of course.</p><p>Holden is used to being the weird kid, the quiet one that no one listens to because his thoughts are too outlandish, too controversial. Sensitive as his mother had always said. Sensitive but headstrong. He’d endured or outright ignored the bullying, the stares and whispers behind his back because he’d been too stubborn to give in, too petulant to change just to fit in. Always an outsider, a loner, always the new kid with an obsession for composure to organize the chaos inside himself. Until Bill. Bill is sceptical but never condescending, never giving him strange glances for his interests, his weirdness. Quite the opposite.</p><p>
  <em>You could have been killed and I didn’t see it coming. If I called Nany, if I heard her voice, I would lose it. When the car was spinning out I just – </em>
</p><p>It shouldn’t have creeped up on him so slowly.</p><p>*</p><p>After Wendy joins them full-time, things change. This idea turns into something tangible, doesn’t matter if it’s on its way to become a scientific work or just a new methodology to be used by the FBI in the future. Long hours talking about the interviews, about understanding why these killers feel the compulsion to rape and torture and extinguish a life are elating instead of exhausting</p><p>Holden thrives on the small smiles and hidden fondness Bill shows whenever he catches Holden eyes in the graveyard hours between one day and the next. They spur him on to do better, push harder. His brain knows what he’s doing but it takes his heart a long while to catch up. He’s too wrapped up in work and the rushing feeling of vindication to think about it. Until they are called to Washington where someone is raping and killing pregnant women at the border between the US and Canada. Bill is pricklier than usual, tense, throughout the whole case – from the moment the plane sets off to the moment they catch the guy and return.</p><p>At first Holden speculates that the case is simply hitting too closed to home. These cases are brutal. It would be understandable if Bill’s brain made some kind of unwanted connection which would end in sleepless nights. Holden wouldn’t know. They have separated bedrooms now; now that their new budget covers these costs. As the case progresses and it leads them deep into the bowels of native reserve with longer hours and bowed heads over countless pictures of soulless eyes and brutalized bodies, Bill’s mood turns from sour to something between agitated and restless.</p><p>Holden watches as he goes through several packs of cigarettes during the day and can guess that there’s a stash of whiskey in his hotel room that is being depleted every evening. The thought makes something big swell in his throat.</p><p>Holden looks up from the witness’ statements to chance a glance at Bill across from him. His face is pulled taut over his cheekbones and jaw, the dim light pronouncing the worry on his face, his glasses casting long shadows.</p><p>He speaks before he can think further on it, dissecting his own thought process, “How about we call it a day?”</p><p>Bill stops reading as he hears Holden speaking and looks at his partner from above the rim of his glasses, saying nothing. A silent affirmation for Holden to keep talking.</p><p>“Frist round is on me.”</p><p>Bill’s face relaxes as he huffs a silent breath of laughter, shakes his head and his lips stretch into a thin smile. With a sigh he leans back in his chair, taking off his glasses, producing a cigarette from his pockets.</p><p>“Make it dinner and I’m in,” Bill says, his words half playful, half serious. It catches Holden off guard. But not enough to deny Bill. He nods and soon the two of them put on their jackets, turning off the lights and leave; Bill holding the doors for Holden and steering him through them with a gentle hand on the small of his back. The touch sends electricity through his body. The same feeling he used to get when Debbie touched him a certain way and which misses in their interactions nowadays. Holden swallows the pang of arousal and walks to the car, telling himself that it means nothing and even if it did, nothing could ever come of it.</p><p> </p><p>They narrow the suspect down to a pool of candidates that are deeply involved in drug dealings and gang violence. It gets harder and harder to shake off the building tension between them. Holden can ignore it during the day when they’re working, too involved in making progress, proofing their theories and bringing justice to the husbands of these women. After work or alone in his room are different stories altogether. For some reason it has become a habit for them to share dinner after work, switching between paying for the check, staying up longer and longer just talking. Not about the case or their research but personal things – Bill’s time in the military, Holden’s rootless upbringing, politics, belief systems. Holden needs it to stop. But he can’t. Doesn’t want to. He’s too curious about this development, wants to poke at it as if poking a loose tooth with his tongue. Being the centre of Bill’s attention, his bright blue eyes focused on him while smoke curls between them, the receiver of gentle touches to his wrist, strong grips to his shoulder, Bill’s chest to his back suddenly, after he approached the bar to get them another drink and a beautiful woman comes over to talk to him, is enchanting.</p><p>There’s a live wire crackling between them. And just like a little kid, it takes Holden’s complete self-preservation skills to not touch it and see what’ll happen. Instead he spends his nights and early mornings with his hand around his dick furiously fighting imagines of Bill and losing against his active imagination which spits out scenes of himself on his knees with Bill behind him, pounding into him. Sometimes he’s smoking while doing it. The words <em>compulsion</em> and <em>stressors</em> blink in his head like bright neon signs and he wonders how and when he will cut into that razor blade edge of need and want to get some relief. If blood letting will truly cure this.  </p><p>The end of the case is a relief to his nerves, which feel constantly exposed and as if electrified. He hopes that being at home, away from the very thing that constantly pushes his button, will bring some clarity and calm. He clings to the notion of Debbie even as he feels that she’s slipping away.</p><p>It’s for naught.</p><p>The wire sizzles, the sparks setting fire to the office around them, the forests, the rivers, the whole fucking environment, wherever they go.</p><p>- -</p><p>It's just –</p><p>Bill can’t help himself. Not when he’s confronted with Holden being brilliant and insolent day in, day out. He tries to distract himself. Desperately so, with thoughts of Nancy and Brian. But they only push him closer to the edge, closer into Holden’s arms. Hiding behind smoke doesn’t cut it anymore. Holden’s gaze rips through it, those cunning eyes dissecting him, peeling back Bill’s protective layers like he would with one of their subjects. And Bill lets him, nursing the snakes that coil in his belly with a poison which intoxicates him instead of killing him. He’s getting addicted to the feeling that explodes in him whenever they are alone and Holden’s focus is on him, even more so when the three of them are in a room and it settles on him instead of Wendy. She notices, knows, tells him to be careful one late evening, when Holden has already left and he’s trying to avoid going back home to his family.   </p><p>*</p><p>Wendy is smiling as she enters the office that morning. She settles between Bill and Holden and demands their attention without saying it in so many words. There’s an envelope in her hand she fans in front of her before putting it on the desk.</p><p>Bill takes a drag on his cigarette, squinting at the square piece of paper in front of him. Holden’s eyes slowly wander to him and catch his eyes. They share a short look and turn their attention back to Wendy.</p><p>“It’s an invitation to the APA Convention.”</p><p>Spurt into action by these words, Holden grabs the envelope and takes the letter, reading the words with a beating heart to make sure Wendy isn’t joking.</p><p>“That’s – it’s -,” he stammers as he’s reading and speaking at the same time. Bill raises his eyebrows and looks at Wendy.</p><p>“Have you talked to –”</p><p>She doesn’t let him finish, eager, “Yes. He wants us to go.”</p><p>Nodding, he turns back to Holden, who is watching them with sparkling eyes.</p><p>“Don’t cream your pants. You won’t be speaking.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>Bill crosses his arms in front of his chest, smiling to himself. Holden’s charisma is not the reason he fancies him.  </p><p>“Why do you think?” He turns to their female co-worker. “Wendy will do it. She’s got a doctorate and doesn’t bore people with philosophical drivel.”  </p><p>Obviously miffed Holden straightens his tie. Probably to get back some semblance of control.  </p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>His eyes tell Bill that he’s not fine with the decision. Bill only smiles, sees Wendy doing the same, nodding at him in thanks.  </p><p>“So. When’s that conference?”</p><p>*</p><p>For some reason Nancy takes offence at the trip. Well, not for some reason. She clearly tells him the reason with cutting words and angry stares. If only she knew how wrong she was to be jealous at Wendy. It takes him several days after that particular conversation to convince her that no, Wendy and he are colleagues, friends and nothing more and that a working trip won’t change the fact that he loves only her. The lie slips easily from his tongue, practiced after so many decades, burning a hole of unease and guilt into his chest nonetheless.</p><p>It’s soon forgotten, only to be an issue as the conference approaches. She’s strained and doesn’t even hug him goodbye. Shielding her body with crossed arms in front of her stomach instead. Brian is mute as always. Holden and Wendy are already at the airport when he arrives. It’s strange seeing Wendy there, sharing a plane ride with her, the three of them talking about the cases they’d like to present, their research, without an outsider listening in on the conversations between Holden and himself. Unconsciously he must watch the other man closely, contemplating the fact that it’s been a while since their last work trip and what these usually do to his iron discipline, as Wendy very subtly and gently bumps her elbow into his side. Bill smiles a little guiltily and turns his attention back to the conversation.</p><p>*</p><p>The convention goes smoothly.</p><p> </p><p>They use the first day to make acquaintances, building connections. At least that’s what Wendy and he are doing, enthralling their conversation partners with stories of sitting in front of these killers, staring death in the eye and wondering how people like Kemper operate only to discuss it afterwards. How it feels for Wendy to listen to these men, diving deep into their cross-wired minds. Holden, unable to turn off his own spiralling mind, tries to engage the people by reinforcing the idea of the importance of their work. Seeing it, Bill tells him to relax. If the association invited them, they already know. The knowledge makes it a bit easier for Holden and sure enough, not long after, there are some stuffy old academics and some young bright-eyed ones flocking around him.</p><p>No matter where in the room Bill’s speaking, one eye is always stealing glances at Holden, making sure everything is fine. And by the looks of it, it is extremely fine. Most of his persons opposite from him change at regular intervals. Except for one – Holden’s age, handsome, and clearly looking for something else if the way he leans into Holden, touching his elbow, is any indication. That ugly thing inside of him that always rears its head at these occasions, urges him into action. He wishes he could stop. He’s got no claim after all. But –    </p><p>Bill grasps the person he’s talking to by the shoulder, “Excuse me.”  </p><p>As he gets closer, he can hear the guy asking Holden if he can get him anything to drink. Just as Holden opens his mouth, Bill wraps an arm around his shoulders, nipping his answer in the bud.</p><p>“Hey,” he points a finger at the guy, balancing his whiskey glass in his hand, “I hope my partner hasn’t bored you to death yet. You’re allowed to politely make your escape.”</p><p>He’s probably showing too many teeth. He can feel Holden's typical stare, a mixture of questioning, threatening and analytical, boring into the side of his skull. The other guy blinks at him, confused at the interruption.</p><p>“Not at all.”</p><p>His eyes flick between Bill and Holden. Clearing his throat, he mutters an excuse and leaves. Satisfied, Bill downs the rest of his whiskey, feeling the pleasant burn sliding down his throat into his belly, calming the beast sitting there. His arm slides from Holden’s shoulder, hand travelling down his back to stir him towards the bar.</p><p>“What’s going on with you?” Holden asks in his typical calm manner. Bill’s grip tightens.</p><p>“C’mon. Let’s get you a drink,” he says in lieu of answering.</p><p>He makes sure to be plastered to Holden’s side throughout the rest of the evening, avoiding Wendy’s judgmental glare and the calculating eyes of the guy Bill has no name of.</p><p> </p><p>On their second day no such thing can happen. It’s packed with lectures and Q&amp;As and by the end all three of them are beat. They decide to pass the rest of the evening in their hotel’s bar, celebrating this milestone. He’s not drunk when he says it. Quite the opposite. He’s clear headed. Just being led by his emotions as it seems.</p><p>“Nancy didn’t want me to come, you know?”</p><p>Holden’s eyebrows draw together.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Thought Dr.Carr over there would be too big a temptation.”</p><p>Wendy takes a deliberate sip of her white wine. Her eyes are considering the meaning behind his words.</p><p>“I’m glad you came anyway,” she says, a finality to her words. Either to stop the topic from getting too personal or keeping Bill from steering it into dangerous waters. He appreciates the sentiment.</p><p>He says, “Yes, well…” The sentence is left unfinished. Not like he could add something important to it anyway. Or something that would be appropriate.  </p><p>Bill drops his eyes to the glass in his hands, swirling the liquid brown lazily. Telling himself not to gauge Holden’s reaction is harder than he thinks, fighting against instincts and desires so deeply woven into the fabric of his being. It’s no surprise that he loses that battle. As he bears his throat to finish the rest of his whiskey, while catching Holden’s warm searing gaze, it feels like honey wetting his throat, sticky sweet and soothing. Breaking eye contact he fumbles for another cigarette, the lighter coming to life a harsh sound that rips through the silence that has descended between the three of them.</p><p>Wendy uses the sound of the lighter snapping shut again as the starting shot to reignite the lull in conversation.</p><p>“Do you think there was anything useful we can take away from the conference?”</p><p>It’s Holden that answers her questions, drawn into the conversation and away from the implications of Bill’s word at the slightest hint of discussing the minds of people, of propelling their work forward. Bill settles back into the wide, luxurious leather chair, content to listen to them. His own thoughts are too muddled to contribute anything worthwhile.       </p><p>As the discussions comes to a natural conclusion, a yawn breaks free from him. His watch tells him that the hour has become late.</p><p>“I’m turning in,” Bill says, moving to stand up.</p><p>As if broken from a spell, the others nod and follow suit. They’re all on the same floor. The elevator ride is silent, every topic of conversation exhausted, the two long days finally catching up to them – elation replaced with fatigue.</p><p>Except –</p><p>Bill’s mind is still running in circles, keeping him agitated despite his body’s obvious wish to lie down and sleep. As they exit the elevator and walk down the hall, the squirming in his belly becomes stronger.</p><p>Wendy’s room is first. And as she departs, wishing them a good night, it only gets worse. These few moments that he’s alone with Holden, he buries his hands in his pockets lest he be compelled to do something stupid and reckless like pushing him against one of the yellow walls to see how he would react – would he punch Bill and never talk to him again or lean into the touch and let Bill plunder his mouth, take care of him?</p><p>Holden’s quiet, sure voice stops his fantasies, “Good night, Bill.”</p><p>It attracts Bill’s eyes to his mouth, then to his eyes. They’re regarding Bill, posing a silent question. His hand is on his doorknob, the door itself slightly ajar, half-in, half-out. He’s giving Bill a choice. The choice. Bill swallows, jaw going tight as he bites his tongue. He averts his eyes, trying to break the tension.</p><p>“Good night, Holden,” he rasps, cowardly and weak, turning his back on the other man and crossing to the other side of the corridor to disappear into his room.    </p><p> </p><p>Bill is too high strung to go to bed. The evening is a vivid picture in his head, Wendy’s words, Holden's questioning eyes. <em>God</em>, he thinks to himself, <em>I’m so fucking stupid</em>. The problem is, Nancy planted this idea in his head and he’s been mulling it over since. Lying to himself again; even before he’s been thinking about it. Lonely nights in nondescript hotel rooms, wishing for Holden’s warmth next to him, on top of him. He smokes his cigarette to the end, biting at the remaining butt and eventually discarding it in the ashtray. He needs to get some sleep. No use thinking about what he wants when he can’t have it.</p><p>Just as he’s settled in for the night, about to turn on the TV to drown out his thoughts and fade into a fitful sleep, there’s a knock at the door. His heart jumps, blood rushing in his ears, hope and dread in equal measures swelling in his chest.</p><p>He opens the door and sure enough there’s Holden. Stripped down to a plain white t-shirt and some loose sweatpants which hug his thighs complementary.</p><p>“Can I come in?” he whispers, although not one single soul besides them is in sight.</p><p>Bill steps aside to let him in and closes the door. Holden comes to a halt in the middle of the room, staring at the bed. Until Bill follows him and stop next to him.</p><p>Taking a deep breath Holden turns to him.</p><p>“Tell me I’m imagining - <em>this</em> and I leave. I leave and never speak a word of it again.” Although his voice is as calm, as determined as ever, there’s a slight tremble. <em>This</em>. Such a small word. For such a magnificent thing. <em>This</em>. <em>This</em>. Bill knows that he means a myriad of things, posing a dozen questions.</p><p>Bill can’t answer, want and wishes and fears tightening his throat. Instead his gaze wanders to Holden’s lips, shining pale pink in the orange light of the bedside lamp.</p><p>“Bill...”</p><p>He waits. He waits, while the fingers of his right hand nervously rub against each other.</p><p>“Nancy was right, in a way, wasn’t she?” he presses, knowing that Bill can’t, won’t say no. Knowing that with enough force Bill always succumbs. “But it isn’t –”</p><p>Before Holden can finish, and Bill knows where that sentence is going, his hands are clutching Holden’s face and capturing his lips in a bruising needy kiss, substituting his words with a muffled sigh. Bill sucks on his lush lower lip, releasing it, wet and red.</p><p>“Fucking temptation all right,” it rushes out of him before he’s kissing Holden again. Before the ugly truth swings a hammer at his head.  </p><p>“I can’t leave her,” Bill whispers, laments, against Holden’s lips, “I can’t.” He closes his eyes, breathes through his nose. “Just this once.” His thumbs start caressing Holden’s cheeks, scratching his nails lightly underneath his eyes.</p><p>“I understand,” Holden says. And stays, kisses him again; this one slower. It’s searching. Searching for that sting that feels good when it’s too much, searching for that sweet combination of alcohol and toothpaste, tongues sensually gliding against each other.</p><p>When next they part, Holden rubs his nose against Bill's.</p><p>“Be gentle. This is new for me.”</p><p>Something swoops down from Bill’s chest to his stomach. The admission reminds him of how young Holden is. Of the fact that he could’ve, might’ve, been with that other man from the night before.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Bill asks, searching for reassurance. For himself and Holden.</p><p>Holden only hums, kissing him again and steering him towards the bed.  </p><p>His legs hit the edge, their lips part, slow and eager to explore again. Then Bill sits down, looking up at Holden, his hands settling on his hips, thumbs sneaking their way underneath his shirt to rub at the skin of his hipbones, smooth and hard. The contact sends electric currents down his arms, into his chest. Impatiently his hands wander to the string of Holden’s pants. He waits for permission, seeking it by looking at Holden - who nods. Bill’s breath catches as he reveals tight briefs, strained by Holden’s half-hard erection. As his pants slip to the ground, Bill’s fingers gently brush over his thighs, winding their way towards Holden’s groin where he grinds his hand against it, enjoying the hardness underneath his palm, the proof of his desire for Bill.</p><p>Above him, Holden’s breath hitches, his hands searching purchase on Bill’s shoulders. His fingers dig into the meat of it as Bill does the same – his hands stroking towards his backside, grapping his ass, then the back of his thighs to finally bring Holden into his lap. Like this, they’re face to face, sharing the same air in the scarce space between them, eyes conveying a loop of desire and adoration and desperation. Unable to bear the distance any longer, Bill closes the gap between them, kissing Holden again, letting his lips glide against his eager mouth, opening him with his tongue as Holden starts grinding against him. The action lodges free a moan from the back of his throat, sending heat rushing through his veins to pool in his stomach. Every point of contact, Holden’s hands caressing his neck, are like little fireworks to his nerves.</p><p>Breaking the kiss, his hands once again find their way beneath Holden’s shirt. This time to rid him of it. Holden eagerly rises his arms.</p><p>“Fuck –” Bill chokes as he throws the garment on the ground to get his hands back on the planes of Holden’s body. His mouth latches onto the sensitive place underneath his chin, applying a slight sucking pressure, not enough to draw blood, before his lips move on to smear feather light kisses to his collarbones, down to his pecs where he bites the place just above Holden’s heart. His ministrations are rewarded by Holden throwing his head back and moaning. He shudders as Bill’s worshipping fingers lightly brush his nipples on his way down. He stops his exploration at Holden’s hips and with one careful yet powerful motion he turns them around, has Holden lying underneath him, pliant and so fucking hard, his mouth half-opened to suck in precious air, covered in light and shadows. If only it would be enough to fuck these feelings away. But somewhere along the way lust has turned into something else or maybe it had always been something else, from the very beginning.</p><p>Letting out a shuddering breath he kneels between Holden’s legs, splayed invitingly, heels digging into the mattress. He smiles, putting his hands on Holden’s body once again. This time on his knees first, dragging them down his thighs over fine hair until they reach the edge of the last piece of veiling clothing, thumb slipping underneath the fabric enticingly. Again, he looks at Holden, looking for validation. Holden nods, underlying it with a husky, “Yes.”</p><p>Reeling in his racing heart, Bill slowly starts peeling back Holden’s briefs, backed up by Holden raising his hips, lying back down as his briefs join the rest of his clothes on the ground. Bill licks his lips, entranced by the sight before him.</p><p>“Bill –”</p><p>Startled at the hushed words, he looks up.</p><p>“You, too.”</p><p>Placing a kiss on the inside of Holden’s knee, Bill leans back, feet finding the carpet. Standing in front of Holden he starts stripping down, trying to make it a little bit erotic for him and smirks when he succeeds. As he exposes more and more of himself, one of Holden’s hands creep over his body, stimulating himself, nails digging into his own flesh to keep them from touching his straining erection resting on his belly. When he’s finished, the pile of clothing next to the bed growing, he waits. Just a little. To draw out this delicious torture.</p><p>Until</p><p>“Come here,” Holden whispers, voice washed with need.</p><p>Bill, already bad at denying him when they’re not like this, doesn’t, crawls back between his legs, taking his ankles and pushing him further up with Holden’s help. As he descends to trade sloppy, slow kisses, their bodies connected from head to toe, Holden’s arms wind around Bill’s shoulders while Bill’s hands are trapped between them.</p><p>And it feels right. Good. Better than it should.</p><p>But Bill wants to make it even better, wants to make it worth it. Burning kisses onto Holden’s already blazing skin, he glides down until he reaches his destination, mouth salivating at the indecent act he’s about to commit, at the way Holden watches him hungrily. As his right hand grips Holden’s cock by the root to position him for Bill’s mouth, a gasp leaves Holden’s mouth, his hands snapping above his head to grab the headboard and as Bill flattens his tongue against his pink weeping head, the moan leaving him is music to Bill’s ears. It encourages him to take him deeper, to look at Holden and revel in his bliss.</p><p>Experimentally his other hand slides between Holden’s legs, his thumb slightly grazing his hole. A shiver goes through Holden’s body, his feet flexing, muscles going taut in pleasure. Bill lets up, watching Holden’s reaction, thumb tracing along his rim.</p><p>“Holden?”</p><p>“Yes!” he answers breathless, knowing what the question would be. Bill hums and stumbles from the bed to his suitcase, finding his toiletry kit and the small tube of Vaseline in it. Holden watches him return and dipping his fingers in, with dark eyes, biting his lips. Bill wants to swap Holden’s teeth with his lips. And there’s nothing refusing him, except Holden. But the other man is happily reciprocating as Bill plasters himself to his side, turning his head towards him with his unsoiled hand, keeping him in place as he catches his plush kiss swollen lips in another wet, sensual kiss. His coated fingers find their way to Holden’s backside, thumb circling, massaging, relaxing the muscle. Holden’s legs fall open wider. His chest is heaving, eyes locked onto Bill, panting quietly, hotly.</p><p>And then –</p><p>as his finger carefully breaches him, his eyes widen, a small vulnerable hiccup leaving him, before he pushes into the intrusion with his head against the pillow, eyes closed, hands clutching the sheets like a lifeline. Bill tries to be calm, gradual, but Holden, as always, is too impatient. He’s moaning shamelessly as he meets Bill’s fingers with rolling hips, clenching and testing the foreign pressure.</p><p>“Fuck, baby, slow down.” Holden shakes his head.</p><p>Bracing himself on his elbow and against Holden’s side, he peppers kisses along his neck, smelling the remains of the shower he must’ve had – soap and shampoo – up to the side of his face, while pushing in again with a second finger, making Holden jolt and do that hiccup sound again. He’s content to do this for a while, neglecting his own need, making sure that Holden is burning with passion until he lights up.</p><p>“How far do you want to go?” he whispers into the dark space next to Holden’s ear. The moment he asks, the rhythm of his hand finds the perfect spot of bundled nerves, has Holden moaning his name, one hand going around Bill’s wrist like a vice, hole clenching. He turns his head.</p><p>“Want you inside of me.”</p><p>Bill nods, kissing his shoulder. He extracts his fingers, enjoying the feeling before he dips back into the open tub on the bedside table.</p><p>“Get on your knees.”</p><p>Hastily Holden complies, turning around on his hands and knees, back to Bill. It makes him chuckle.</p><p>“Sorry. I didn’t mean like that.”</p><p>Confused Holden looks back at him.</p><p>“Turn around, come here. Kneel over my lap. I want to see you.”</p><p>Holden complies again, settles comfortably on top of him, looking down at him with excitement, licking his lips. He’s hot and yielding when Bill next applies more Vaseline to the most sensitive part of his body. Chest to chest like this, he can feel Holden’s rapid heart beat, the sweat that has gathered on his skin. He nods towards the tub. He doesn’t need to speak. Holden understands, gets some and winds his hand around Bill’s cock. The sudden pressure overwhelms him. Taking a long, shaky breath through his nose and mouth, his forehead collides with Holden’s collarbone and unable to help himself, his lips attach themselves to his skin, sucking to take the edge off. </p><p>“Stop,” he croaks, afraid he’ll spill before he can give Holden exactly what he wants. He stops, his mouth wide open, panting. And ready. He trades Holden’s hand for his own. “Sit. Take your time.”</p><p>Holden nods, bracing himself on Bill’s shoulder, pushing his hole against Bill’s hardness, creating delicious friction. Bowing his head, he watches what he feels, his body opening up willingly to the intrusion.</p><p>Bill waits. Patiently. Even though he itches to do more. He waits until Holden comes to a rest completely, smiling at him. His hand is curved against his hips, rubbing comforting circles into his hipbone.</p><p>“Good?”</p><p>“Very,” Holden says and starts moving, his arms twisting around Bill’s shoulders to push them together in every possible way. He’s fucking gorgeous like this, taking what he wants, enjoying their closeness.</p><p>Bill makes sure to burn this imagine, this moment, into his mind. He lets Holden dictate the pace, happy to watch him until he stops, silently begging Bill for something else. Bill plants another kiss against his cheek, murmuring, “I’ve got you” before changing their position, splaying Holden against the sheets, bending his legs and diving back into his heat, maintaining a steady rhythm.</p><p>Holden buries his nails in his back. And moans.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for Holden to lose himself in the tenderness, the ardor, of their love making; for him to sling his legs around Bill; for him to open his mouth in quiet climax as his body bows, giving in to the inferno consuming him and setting fire to Bill in the process, holding him close and begging him with his body to finish inside of him.</p><p>In the aftermath, Bill covers him like a blanket, protecting his fragile state from the darkness surrounding them. Holden is silent, his hands absentmindedly running over Bill’s back. A small noise of protest leaves him when Bill stands to wobble to the bathroom. He’s half asleep as Bill cleans him and crawls into the bed, dragging them underneath the blankets, Holden securely in his arms.</p><p>This feels right, too.</p><p>*</p><p>Holden is the first to wake up. Bill is curled around him, seeking his warmth. Carefully he entangles himself, body and soul, to prepare for the crushing reality of what they’ve done and what it means. Bill was that honest with him, although Holden secretly didn’t extend the same courtesy. He knew coming into Bill’s room would change him forever; them. That it would only strengthen the feelings nestled inside of him. In the bathroom he tries to rearrange his particles to fit his old persona, to contain his bleeding heart, to show the same strong will as Bill for once. It’s hard with the love bite directly over his heart as a stark reminder of last night.   </p><p>Coming back outside he sees Bill turning around to watch him from hooded sleep crusted eyes, smiling despite the worry lines crisscrossing his face.</p><p>“Hey,” Holden says, walking towards the bed.</p><p>Immediately Bill sits up, his body pulled towards Holden’s gravitational field whether he wants to or not. A while ago Holden has realised that Bill doesn’t do it deliberately, it just happens. He’s still naked as he sits at the edge of the bed, stretching his arms towards Holden to search for any part of him to hold on to, which in this instance are his hands, interlacing their fingers.</p><p>“You alright?” he asks, looking at Holden, open and considerate.  </p><p>Holden nods and takes a step closer. It’s a half-truth. <em>Physically</em> he is fine.  </p><p>“I better go,” he whispers, knowing and honoring their agreement. The longer he stays the harder it will be for him to leave with his heart somewhat intact.</p><p>Bill’s grip tightens, his head bowed as a huff leaves him and as if the weight on his shoulders gets too much, he falls towards Holden, his forehead colliding with his stomach, burying his face there. Holden doesn’t know what to say. He feels the same way, even more so, perhaps. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want this to be a one-night stand. He frees his hands and hugs the other man, likewise bowing his head to kiss the crown of grey hair.</p><p>“You need to let me go,” he speaks softly, brokenly. Slowly Bill’s backs away. One last time he takes Holden’s face between his hands to kiss him with the clear intent to have a reminder as well.   </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>He keeps it together as the three of them leave the hotel, even on the flight back, on the lift home Bill gives him. Can act as if everything is fine and last night hasn’t pulverized his insides.</p><p>But</p><p>The moment the car stops in front of his apartment and Bill turns to him, longing and heartache reflected back at him in his eyes, Holden feels like screaming at the unfairness of it all. They don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. Except their goodbyes.</p><p>“See you on Monday,” Holden says, turning to leave.</p><p>“Yeah.”     </p><p>As Holden leaves without looking back, the cavity of his chest feels like someone’s pushed a hot piece of coal into it. All he wants now is to crawl into his empty cold bed, curl into a ball and cry.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>After that it’s hard. There’s so much shit happening; Greg, OPR, Vacaville, Atlanta, that there is that one second, that one moment where Bill truly contemplates what Nancy demands of him. Leaving it all behind. Turning his back, forgetting and moving on. But the moment he thinks about it, is the moment Holden’s face springs to the front of his mind. Not necessarily the ones where him and Holden are in countless Motels, not him and Holden down in the basement talking about cases, and these moments are precious to him, too, but – no, Holden on top of him, beautifully arched because Bill gave him pleasure. He’s torn into two, spread thin between two places at once, his heart unable to bear the consequences of his lies. He was unfaithful towards Nancy, yet whenever he’s with her and not in Atlanta, it feels like he is disloyal towards Holden. Just because his heart had decided, that night, that it belonged to him and now he’s stuck in that liminal space.  </p><p>It all comes crashing down shortly after Atlanta. He’s back home. With Nancy and Brian like she wanted. At the same time he’s not. And she knows it, feels it.  </p><p>One evening as the three of them are sitting in that awful bar Holden has recommended to them ages ago, trying to mend the cracks between them, trying to reconcile their friendship and work relationship, Nancy storms through the doors. All of them, confused at her arrival, look towards her as she approaches with fury in her eyes and clutching something between her hands.</p><p>At first Bill thinks it’s another crime scene photo, that Brian has once again broken into his office and found something he’s not supposed to see. But when she storms towards their table, she throws down a piece of paper and he can recognize his own hand writing. While his heart speed rockets, he swallows the last of the whiskey on his tongue, the bitter sting travelling to a hole that has opened up inside of him. He stares at the letter before his shaky hand covers it in a vain attempt to hide its content.</p><p>He doesn’t look at her, waiting for the storm to pass him.</p><p>When Nancy speaks, she is deadly calm.</p><p>“I knew it. You told me there was nothing to worry about. But I knew it.” The slight tremble in her voice has him turning his head towards her. She’s been crying. Next to him, Holden and Wendy silently watch the scene unfold trying to blend into the background. He stands, reaching out to his wife but she pulls away.  </p><p>“Nancy…”</p><p>Her next words are calculated, sharp and meant to cut deep, “No. Enough. Don’t you dare touch me. I want a divorce, Bill. I want you to leave.” Her body swivels towards the other woman at the table. No one sees it coming as her hand collides with Wendy’s cheek, the sound swallowed by the noise around them.</p><p>“Nancy!”</p><p>“How could you? <em>How could you?</em>”</p><p>Wendy doesn’t answer, too shocked to do so. Receiving nothing but blank, distressed silence, she turns around and struts through the crowd back outside. As the words sink in, the shock abates, Bill rushes after her, trying to catch up with her, trying to salvage the wreckage. Although the dark part of him that he usually tries to keep buried knew this would happen, had left his journal, the letter within, to be found for this to happen. Had written it in a daze, frantic to get his feelings under control yet wanting to unleash them all the same. He’s a federal agent. He knows that evidence has a way of turning up and that lies never stay hidden, that the truth will always be revealed, that things have a way of circling back to their beginning. History repeating itself.    </p><p> </p><p>As Bill leaves, Holden looks at Wendy wide-eyed, who still clutches her cheek.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>She nods, her face a grimace of pain and confusion. Holden takes the abandoned letter. His eyes only grow bigger at the words, the implications, the fact that – </p><p>
  <em>Dear Temptation,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m not one for many words because I usually don’t know how to say them. And I’m certainly not one for love letters. But I’m writing this for you and I’m sure you appreciate the gesture. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Being close to you every day is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. And I served in the military. Seeing you, knowing what you feel like, without being able to experience it again, drives me crazy. Your presence constantly haunts me. During the day and during the night. I get no rest, thinking and dreaming about you. About that night we had.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s your face above me, slaw jacked and gasping in the throes of passion. The little noise of surprise and delight when I was inside of you. The way you were curled in my arms. I stayed up half the night, watching you, holding you close. I didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want it to end.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Despite the hardship of the job, I’m glad to see you every time; to know you’re next to me. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. I’m doing this because of you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wish circumstances were different. I wish you were mine.       </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wendy’s voice shifts his attention to her, letter still in his hand.</p><p>“What was that about?”</p><p>“I’ll get you some ice.”</p><p>He leaves, giving Wendy some time to calm down. Time to get his racing heart under control. And gets back, presenting her the ice he was able to get from the bartender. She takes it, thanking him but the look she levels at him, tells him that he’s got some explaining to do. He trusts Wendy, doesn’t give a shit in general about other people’s opinions when he feels he’s right, but the admission would change things. Privately and at work. Panic grips his lungs, his heart. His hands fumble for the Valium in his pocket, swallowing it down with his remaining coke under Wendy’s concerned stare. Only when his heart is back to normal does he steel himself for his next words.</p><p>“Bill and I – Do you remember the APA convention?”</p><p>“Yes, but Holden –”</p><p>“Bill and I slept together,” he whispers, careful to keep his voice down.</p><p>Stunned at the confession, Wendy merely looks at him, a mixture of surprise and something else.</p><p>“Oh, Holden.”</p><p>“Just this once. But,” his eyes catch the letter. Carefully he folds it and puts it into his pocket. “I’ll see if Bill’s alright. You’re sure you’re ok? Just for a few minutes?”</p><p>“Hm. Go. And Holden? Don’t worry about this. I’ll cover for you, just promise to be careful.”</p><p>Holden nods, “Thanks, Wendy. I owe you.”  </p><p>Bill is outside as Holden pushes the doors open, leaning against the wall next to the entrance, smoking. Nancy is gone.</p><p>Seeing Holden approaching a pained expression crosses his face, his fingers clutching the cigarette tighter, rubbing his forehead as if stemming a budding headache. He turns, walking away from the light on the street, flowing from the bar. They don’t need any witnesses. Holden follows, worry written all over his face, until they’re covered in relative darkness. The tip of Bill’s dwindling cigarette flares as he takes another drag, a strange homage to a film noir. Holden wonders if that makes him the femme fatal in this scenario.</p><p>He should inquire after Bill’s well-being. After the resolution to the fight. But his curiosity wins the better of him.</p><p>“That letter –”</p><p>“Shut it, Holden.”</p><p>“Did you really write it?”</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>Holden takes a step closer under the scrutiny of Bill’s gaze.</p><p>“I think I didn’t know you had it in you,” he pauses. Bill flips his cigarette away. “Bill, I <em>am</em> yours.”</p><p>Bill takes a sharp breath. “<em>Holden</em>, stop. How’s Wendy?”</p><p>“She’s fine. I told her. About us.”</p><p>“You did what?”</p><p>“She understands.”</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ, I know that but – Fuck. I shouldn’t be out here with you.”</p><p>The tension between them is escalating, palpable, Holden is barely breathing, chest tight with anticipation and pent-up frustration. “Bill. I want you. I don’t care what that makes me.”</p><p>Like that night during the convention, his name spoken in a soft, strong voice, underlined with so much more than what is said, kicks him over the edge. He crosses the few inches between them, claiming what is freely given, what he's been craving all this time.</p><p>Under the cover of darkness, he reignites the spark that has always been there, the lava bubbling underneath the surface of every interaction, every stolen glance, every deliberate subtle touch. They kiss, without finesse, lips gliding against each other, coarsely then wetly, hands holding on tightly in case <em>this will </em>vanish like smoke from one of Bill’s cigarettes.</p><p>Eventually Bill parts with one last shallow rubbing of lips against lips and whispers, “I’ve got no place to stay and probably shouldn’t turn up at the house in the next few days.”</p><p>Holden smiles and Bill can feel it on his own lips, can feel it right down to his very bones. Some of the happiness stays there, in spite of the dread he also feels, barely covering it but seeping through the cracks.  </p><p>“You’re lucky. I’m single and coincidentally have an apartment.”    </p><p>Before he can say ‘so does Wendy’, Bill hears the door to the bar opening, laughter and talking bursting free from the inside and high heels echoing on the pavement. Heart rate spiking he lets go of Holden. Although reluctantly. Taking a step back he turns his head towards street, but the voices don’t come closer.</p><p>“Will you come?”</p><p>His eyes flit back to Holden, the question dripping with anticipation, no trace of fear. His eyes betray the same feelings, taking in Bill’s appearance like a man drowning. Bill rubs his hand across his mouth, feeling the friction of his ring, everything in him itching to light another cigarette or drag Holden back into a bruising kiss.</p><p>Holden knows him. Probably knows that his resistance is only some misguided attempt at control and decency.</p><p>“Fuck,” he mutters.</p><p>“Is that a yes?”</p><p>The thought of being alone with Holden again after so many years, of having him naked underneath him while writhing and gasping and calling Bill’s name, hidden behind thick walls, indulging in this illicit and dangerous act, makes his pulse race. He doesn’t think he could say no even if he wanted. Trying to be nonchalant he waves his arms towards the opening of the alley, “Lead the way.”</p><p>Holden visible perks up at that, grinning and moving with clear purpose.</p><p>*</p><p>Pushing Holden up against the wall of his apartment, kissing the living daylight out of him, Bill knows he should feel ashamed. Ashamed of desiring someone younger, ashamed of desiring another man, ashamed of being the reason Holden wasn’t able to maintain his relationship, ashamed that he couldn’t save his marriage, ashamed of practically ripping his ring from his finger and throwing it somewhere to be forgotten, ashamed that there’s no shame, only adoration and lust and relief.</p><p>The way Holden melts into him tells him that these feelings are shared. Unabashed in his wants, Holden’s hands wander along Bill’s body, discarding him of his clothes. As Bill’s face buries itself in his neck, kissing and gently biting the soft skin there and a hissed <em>yes</em> leaves his lips, he concludes that it’s high time to move this. He pushes Bill away from him, who blinks at him on confusion, but Holden keeps pushing, giving him no time to doubt. Pushing and pushing him further into the apartment. (Into this blossoming relationship.) Realising his destination, Bill stumbles with him, getting Holden’s shirt, undershirt, off his shoulders, appreciating with his hands the skin revealed, the contours of his virile body, his rosy nipples. Holden arches into the touches, starved and hedonistic.</p><p>They’re naked and hard by the time they reach the bed, lost in each other. Reliving the experience of being connected to Bill in the most intimate way possible, there a fragments of thoughts that beg to be formulated but get scattered in the haze of his ecstasy filled brain – about never wanting this to end and maybe it won’t, divorce on the horizon and he should feel bad about it except he’s looking bad in the eye daily and this doesn’t feel bad or evil. And then all he can think about is Bill, <em>Bill</em>, <em>Bill</em>.  </p><p>Bill doesn’t leave afterwards. On the contrary. He stays, leaning against the headboard and pulling Holden into his lap, between his thighs, both of them still naked after the quick shower. His right hand is firmly intertwined with Holdens, thumb rubbing slow circles into his wrist and the back of his hand, his left is lazily trailing along Holden’s body, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Holden is content to bathe in the relaxed atmosphere, happy.   </p><p>“Are you always this quiet after sex?” Bill asks, rumbling it into the crown of Holden’s head. It earns him a low chuckle.</p><p>“Not really. With Debbie I was constantly asking questions.”</p><p>Holden can tell that Bill is mulling his words over, deciphering him. He decides to be easy on him.</p><p>“I don’t have to with you.”</p><p>“Why not?” Confusion is swinging in his voice.</p><p>Feeling like he needs to see Bill’s face, Holden turns around, leaning against his broad chest, head pillowed on his shoulder. Bill’s hand traces higher to cradle his face, thumb rubbing into the apple of his cheek.</p><p>“I enjoy whatever you do to me.”</p><p>“Do to you?”</p><p>“You know what I mean. Whatever we do. I know what I like, and I can tell when you like something. <em>This</em> feels good, does it not?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Holden’s eyes travel upwards.</p><p>“I’m already a sexual deviant. And a criminal, I guess. So - I want everything.” He lets the confession sink in, feels Bill taking a deep breath. “Someday even take care of you. If you let me.”</p><p>It’s a question wrapped in a question. And it’s answered with a gentle kiss, Bill pulling them under the safety of the blankets, curling around him. It’s answered the next morning, waking up next to each other. It’s answered the first time Holden is inside of Bill. It’s answered when Bill moves in with him for the duration of the divorce. And again and again after, in a million different ways.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from Nothing But Thieves – Particles (also referenced in the text)<br/>The case is a reference to the novel Anima by Wajdi Mouawad</p><p>Comments &amp; Concrit appreciated. If you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out. Thanks!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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